Tag Archives: momma

Sometimes it’s just her voice I hear, but it’s loud and clear…like the time I was getting ready to open one of the shed doors and she said, very strongly, like she was standing right next to me: “Linda, Be aware! Pay Attention”!

It was so strong, so loud, so real, I even answered her—“Of what, Momma?”

As I turned toward her voice—of course, she wasn’t there.

Momma died in 2000.

Or I’m washing my face, or my hair and I look up into the mirror over the bathroom sink and I see Momma…right there her smiling face covering my face, then it fades.

It always startles me. Then I think, it must be that I am looking more and more like Momma.

Or I’m doing something, peeling potatoes, washing up the dishes, scrubbing the floors on my hands and knees as my arm and hand move back and forth I suddenly see Momma’s hand(s) as she did those things I am now doing.

It’s rather shocking because my hands have dented and bent knuckles…one caused by a hit from a basketball when I was in high school…Momma’s hand never had knuckles like mine.

Another time I was walking out to the hen house and I could have sworn I saw Momma coming down the long, long lane toward me. I almost ran toward her, then the strange apparition was gone.

Faded away. As if it had never been.

I can’t explain these visions or feelings, or things heard; they are like wind blowing through the treetops, the changing lights in the smiling sky…but last night as I lay down to sleep, I felt Momma kiss my forehead just like she used to do when I was a small child.

Yesterday was my Momma’s birthday. If she were alive today she would have turned 88.

Saturday, August 5th, we woke to a world full of low, dark clouds, following a night of gusting wind and hard heavy rain. Although, the clouds started to thin, my thoughts still remained heavy…sadly I was missing Momma. ( I know that many of you can relate to this type of sorrow…the swirl of memories of that one person, whose heart beat alongside yours…right from the beginning.)

Ruth LaVerne Thomas

Often times throughout my life I was told that I looked like my Momma.

Myself

Looking back over old photos — at certain times and in certain ages I can see the similarities. But I must confess I didn’t while I was growing up.

Momma was one of those ‘good souls’. She was gentle and kind and given to helping every animal who came within her reach. Maybe in today’s world she would have been a Veterinarian.

Often times ‘people’ would say of her Daddy…”He would give his shirt off his back to help you.” Momma followed in his footsteps.

Momma gave all the little children who followed the fruit (people who came to pick fruit) clothes from our own closets, often times their very first (and only) birthday cake and a small party…those children remembering her kindly wrote to her for years and years…letters telling her about their marriages, the birth of their children…that first real job. She treasured those letters.

She always, always told me life was full of turbulence and cares, which can make a heart heavy….we, as human beings, do not need to add to sorrows of another’s soul.

(My maternal grandparents and my parents had fruit orchards, which is where my brother and I grew up)

Her smile is the same as a older woman, as when she was a grade school child)

Ah, well, memories are wonderful! But they do have a tendency to cause my eyes to blur with tears — misting the day…even though the sun broke forth from the clouds.

Momma died August 10, 2000…her heart stopped; cutting her life’s threads, which bound her to this earth.

But the thing that gives me the most peace, about that most ordinary day, that wasn’t ordinary after all….was Momma was ready to go.

A few days before she died—- she had just returned from a long and wonderful trip to Ireland. My brother took her. They saw everything possible, spent a night in a castle, walked on that green, green Isle she dreamed of walking on all her life.

An old old dream of her heart.

She told me: “I am finally at peace, Linda. There is nothing more I want to see or do. It is the most amazing, but odd feeling, to have nothing forward to accomplish.”

Hours later I was rushing to the hospital, following the ambulance…time passes slow when you NEED to GET THERE.

But finally I made it—Momma waited for me. She also waited for my Brother…although she was in a coma. Then in the night’s heart she left.

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Life on a Colorado Farm

My name is Linda Brown. I live on a farm on the western slope of Colorado, in the high mountain desert. I’ve lived here all my life, hailing back four generations on my father’s side. Today I blog about our farm, the everyday activities that keep the farm going. I also write about my thoughts and dreams and goals. On Friday’s I always write about our two farm dogs (Fuzzy (now over the rainbow bridge) and Boomer) and their take of their life on our farm.
The lovely thing about blogging it opens the world up for all of us to reach out and meet people from many different cultures and different ways of life. You can find me every day (but Saturday) at https://coloradofarmlife.wordpress.com/
Your Friend on a Western Colorado Farm,
Linda Brown